Bell and Hammer
by Iellix
Summary: --ON HIATUS, but will be completed.-- Sort of AU, Ambrose/DG. After the encounter at the young Princess's party, she and Ambrose begin to develop a highly unlikely relationship.
1. Summer

I wanted to write an AU fic—I started with my one-shot, "Dance With Me," which laid the basis for this story, but it wasn't enough. My urge is not satisfied, the gods demand sacrifice! So I decided to continue along the same vane as "Dance With Me." This fic takes place about a week after that story and chronicles the year—and the evolution of her relationship with Ambrose—after DG returns to Court.

Disclaimer: I've said it before, but I'll say it again—I don't own Tin Man. Sorry, folks!

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0...0...0...0...0

The week after the party, the entire Royal Court up and left Central City for the Royal Family's summer residence at Finaqua. It was such a dizzyingly complicated, time-consuming process, and yet Ambrose always managed to forget what a pain it was to move all of those people. And, goodness, there were a _lot._ The Royal Family came, of course, bringing with them all of their servants and stewards and all of their family members; every member of the Court and all of the Queen's advisors came along, too, with all of their families and servants and tutors for their children, and all of _their_ families; cooks came, and groomsmen, and mistrals, and household staff—all came bringing their own families, making the final head count somewhere around five hundred people.

Sometimes, Ambrose thought it might be easier for everybody to just stay in one place and move the _buildings_ from place to place. He could probably invent something to move whole palaces—and then he'd never have to worry about packing up his workshop and forgetting something vital, like his clothes, which in fact happened quite often. Really, the only reason he ever took on the occasional apprentice was because they would always remind him when he'd forgotten something.

It had been two weeks, now, since the big move—one week to travel, and a week for everybody to get settled into a new routine. In all that time, he had not seen the Princess—seen DG, he amended himself; that's what she preferred to be called—and he was missing her sorely. Even though they had only had a week together after their… encounter… at the ball, they had grown very close. He looked forward to their visits and felt as if a huge chunk of his life was missing when he didn't get to see her.

It was strange—he didn't enjoy her presence much when she was a child, but now that they were getting to know one another—as DG so charmingly put it—"as grown-ups," he felt closer to her than he could remember feeling to anybody.

Except maybe for Cain, who was also at Finaqua, performing his duty as security for the Mystic Man. He always spent his summers at Finaqua with the Royal Family, saying that he needed "the magical waters of the lake" to "replenish the essence of his spiritual being." Whatever _that_ meant. Wyatt Cain was the little voice of reason through Ambrose's paranoid pessimism; whenever he worried needlessly about something, Cain was always there to slap some sense into him. Sometimes literally.

At present, the Head Advisor was in his study, pretending to work but really thinking of the Princess. The more he didn't get to see her, the more the girl kept dominating his thoughts. He couldn't keep his mind on his work—although he didn't have too terribly much to do. Still, he hated falling behind, and he reminded himself that the sooner he finished with this crap the sooner he could spend time with DG.

But his thoughts kept wandering hopelessly to her, thinking of those private moments they'd shared before the move, as he mindlessly shuffled through a stack of papers. There really was no point in trying to get anything done when he was so distracted.

So, in a rare moment of relaxation, he decided to ditch his work room and go for a walk outdoors. The fresh air might do him some good, clear his head. So he dumped his papers and headed out into the late afternoon sunshine.

Finaqua was beautiful at this time of the year. Everything was all so lush and green, the place was full of life, and the whole area was quiet and private, comfortably tucked away in the deep recesses of the Lake Country. The hedge maze, forest, and grottos surrounding the area provided private little refuges, natural playgrounds for the children who stayed here, as well as secret nooks for lovers to hide in, and the lake itself provided the crowning achievement to such amazing natural wonders. It was no wonder the Ancients had named the place Finn'Aqua—"Magical Waters."

A well-travelled path led through the cool woods, and he followed it. As long as he kept to the path, he wouldn't get hopelessly lost. That happened often, too. He really was grossly unsuited to living in the real world. It was a damned good thing he'd gotten this job—he shuddered to think what might have become of him if things had turned out differently.

Of course, as he wandered so did his thoughts. Right back to DG. He could see her face every time he closed his eyes, hear the musical sound of her laughter echoing in his head, smell her warm scent from memory, feel her hands in his, taste those sweet kisses on his lips.

She completely consumed him. He would probably never get any work done again so long as he still kept thinking about her.

He could hear nearby the trickling of waters—one of the many forest creeks must have been nearby. Absently, he turned his head towards the sound and…

There she was.

She was perched prettily on a mossy rock in a small clearing, with her long skirts hiked up all the way, exposing her long pale legs and bare feet. Her legs were bent and drawn up slightly, serving as a little desk on which her sketchbook rested. A proper shirt was nowhere to be found, and instead she was wearing the sleeveless, thin-strapped ladies undershirt. Her hair was drawn up in a haphazard bun through which a half-dozen or so coloured pencils were threaded; she held more pencils in one hand, in her teeth, and tucked into her bosom. It was clear she expected nobody to find her here.

But he'd found her, and he was staring at her, absolutely awestruck, and his mouth was hanging open like a deranged cod. Quickly, quietly, he leaped behind a big tree and watched her covertly from the distance. He could feel his face and ears burning and knew that they were turning red. Why was he embarrassed about this? It's not like he was being a pervert, he'd just stumbled across her!

And yet he was peeping. She was indecently exposed, his eyes wandering up her legs, catching the smallest glimpse of her knickers when she moved. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest. This was wrong, he shouldn't be looking—he should walk away. This was wrong, he shouldn't be looking—he should walk away. This was wrong, he shouldn't be looking…

Suddenly, she looked up, and he felt his stomach leap. Had she heard him? Surely she would have been able to hear his heartbeat. He ducked a little further behind the tree, but not so far that he couldn't see her.

She looked around curiously, as if she was checking to see if anybody was around. Satisfied she was alone, she carefully tucked her drawing supplies into a bag and stood up, taking the hem of her shirt and lifting it up over her head.

Now he was completely rooted to the spot. He couldn't make any of his limbs move, couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched her strip all of her clothes off and leave them, folded neatly, on the rock where she'd been sitting; that done, she dove cleanly into the deep creek.

Naked. He'd just seen the Princess, DG, the girl he was hopelessly infatuated with, _the Princess_ naked. He didn't know whether to be thrilled or terrified. There had to be a rule on the books somewhere that meant he had to die for his crimes. "Man who dost desire'st to debauch the Princess of the Outer Zone is sentenced to torture, emasculation, and death," or something like that.

And yet he just…

Couldn't…

Look…

Away.

He watched her floating sedately in the water, staring into the sky, sighing happily. She looked so at ease.

The water sloshed as she dove under the surface and swam a few feet before coming up for air. The sound surprised Ambrose enough to make him stumble, falling to his knees in the leaves on the forest floor.

DG gasped, turning towards the sound with her arms covering herself as best as she could.

"Who's there?" She demanded, her voice shaking fearfully. "Show yourself or I'll… or I'll turn you into a cockroach!"

"I'm sorry!" He said, standing up and making himself visible to her.

There was a dead silence from her. Quickly, she turned away, putting as much of herself as she could under the water and out of sight.

"Ambrose?" Her voice cracked as she said his name.

"Y-yes, Princess?"

"How long have you been standing there?"

Pause. "A while," he admitted, sounding equally worried.

"H-how much… did you see?"

The pause was longer this time. He couldn't make any words come out, and instead just made a sort of gurgling noise.

"Oh, gods, you saw everything," she whimpered.

His silence was an answer enough for her.

"Ambrose."

He squeaked in response.

"I'm going to get out of the water now, and you're going to turn around."

"Right! Yes, good idea!" He turned around quickly and covered his eyes, waiting.

She sloshed out of the water and pulled her clothes on as quickly as she could, still soaking wet and extremely embarrassed.

"All right, everything's… put away," she assured him.

He turned to look at her, his face bright red with embarrassment and visibly trembling. "I'm so, so sorry, Princess!" He said, speaking very quickly. "I… in my study, couldn't think. So, I decided—why not take a walk? And I went… into the woods. But I didn't know you were here! And I saw you and I was going to say something but you… and events… unfolded…" he panted. "Oh, gods, DG, I'm so sorry!" He was prepared for her to yell at him and slap him and tell him that she never wanted to see him again. He felt like such a filthy, disgusting pervert…

To her own surprise, and clearly to his, DG laughed. Just laughed and laughed, so hard she had to sit down and put her head in her hands to catch her breath.

"What's so funny about this?" He demanded.

"I can't tell who's more embarrassed by this—you or me."

"Oh, I think I'm more embarrassed," he said confidently. Cautiously, he asked, "You're… you're not angry?"

"No," she said between giggles. "I'm too embarrassed to be angry." She took a deep breath and calmed herself down. When she looked up at him, he still looked worried and frightened. "Oh, Ambrose… I could never be angry at you. Come here," she said, lifting one hand.

He bent forward obediently, and she looped her arm around his neck, pulling herself up just enough to kiss him. He started and pulled away suddenly.

"Hey!" She pouted, sticking her lower lip out. "I wasn't finished with you yet."

He blinked. "You're… not… angry?" He asked again, slower, wondering if she'd even understood the question the first time he'd asked it.

"No, I'm not!" She reassured. "Just a bit embarrassed—but more than anything, it's _funny!"_ Her eyebrows knit together. "Come on, you can't _not_ think that was funny."

"Maybe a bit," he admitted. "But… you're sure?"

She sighed. "Of course I'm sure, Ambrose. It's fine, I promise." She stood up and combed her fingers through his hair before clasping her hands behind his neck. The poor man was terrified, and he probably felt like it was all his fault that he'd seen her. It was just an accident—it wasn't like he'd been actively looking for naked girls to spy on. She knew he was far too honourable to _ever_ do that to her. Sometimes he was almost too "honourable" to touch her or kiss her even when she invited him.

He leaned into her as much as he dared, his hands resting tentatively on her hips. He felt her lips on his neck and his breath caught in his throat; he let himself enjoy it for only a few seconds before he forced himself back to reality and stepped away, clearing his throat and pulling at his coat to straighten it.

"We shouldn't—we shouldn't be doing this," he made himself say. Oh, how he wanted to continue, but they couldn't. Not here. Not now. It would be wrong in so many ways, and her mother would have him killed, surely.

Her hands rested on his shoulders, absently toying with his epaulettes. She looked away, her face going pink.

"I see," she said slowly, backing slowly away from him and picking up the bag containing her drawing supplies. "I'd better get back to the palace, then. They'll be wondering where I've disappeared to."

She bent briefly to put on a pair of canvas slippers before taking off, wordlessly, with a surprising speed, back in the direction of the palace. He didn't—couldn't—think of anything to say to her. And then she was gone, leaving Ambrose alone in the woods by the creek with only his thoughts.

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"I'm_still_ not seeing what the problem is." Wyatt Cain was always a down-to-earth, simplest-answer-possible type of man. He'd always called a spade a spade and assumed that everybody else did the same thing. That approach had worked for him for his entire life, until he became friends with the Queen's Head Advisor.

He had never in his life seen a man make so many mountains out of so few molehills. He overanalyzed absolutely everything, committed entire conversations to memory to scrutinize details later in his mind; he could never just take a good thing as it came—he always had to dissect it and find answers to problems that weren't even there.

The curly-haired man sighed angrily, pacing back and forth, being uncharacteristically dazed and disorganized. His coat was off and his vest was open. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow and a shirt tail hung haphazardly out to the side. He couldn't blame his old friend for being frustrated—after all, he'd _asked_ him to come to his study because he needed advice, and here he was being infuriating.

"All right, we'll try this again," he said. "I went for a walk to clear my head, and I walked through the woods. Scared so far?"

"Not yet. Keep talking, it's bound to happen eventually."

Ambrose's dark eyes narrowed even as his friend smirked.

"Walked in the woods, and I got a little bit off the path. And I found DG—the Princess—sitting on a rock drawing and hardly wearing any clothes at all. So I froze up."

"Understandable—though, granted, most of us grow out of the accidental voyeur phase somewhere around the age of seventeen."

_"She took her clothes off, Cain!"_ He exclaimed, grabbing the Tin Man by his lapels and lifting him from his chair, rattling him soundly. "She was _naked_ right in front of me!"

"So you've said—several times," Cain acknowledged, carefully prying his friend's hands from his clothing and settling back into the deck chair with a mug of ale and an annoyed grunt. "And once again, I fail to see the issue here. It's not like you were following her and waiting for her to strip."

_"Naked!"_ He repeated, as if this might help to emphasize his point.

"Ambrose, if you keep saying that word you're gonna give yourself a complex." He kicked the chair next to him, urging the other man to sit down before he went berserk.

The inventor sighed, rubbing his face, frustrated, and plopped down hard into the chair. He leaned his elbows on his knees and put his face on his forearms.

"Now," Cain continued. "The only problem I see here is you being an idiot. You're worrying yourself to death over a very happy accident—you're in the position that every man in the OZ wants to be in. Princess DG is the perfect girl for any man with half a brain who can get one eye open, and you're sitting here terrified because you saw full frontal nudity."

Ambrose looked up, his face expressionless and his eyes half-lidded in annoyance. "Sometimes I don't know why I come to you for advice. All you ever do is make crude jokes and laugh at me."

"It's because I'm the little voice of reason you were born without," he answered, taking a long drink. "Because you have so much brilliance crammed into that head of yours that there's no room for common sense or rationality—which worked for you right up until you fell for someone."

"Can we _please_ get back to the problem at hand?"

"What_problem,_ Ambrose? There _is_ no problem, except for you!"

"I've seen the Princess naked. I won't ever be able to talk to her again. I won't even be able to _look_ at her again!"

This caused Cain to raise his eyebrows inquisitively.

"It's burned into my retinas now—I'll look at her face and I'll just see breasts. If I try to talk to her, who _knows_ what might come out of my mouth."

"You could always just tell her the truth."

"Oh, yes, that'll sound _very_ nice, won't it? 'I'm sorry, Princess, but ever since I accidentally spied you at the creek that day, I can't take a look in your direction without mentally undressing you. Would you hold still please while I hump your leg like a randy cocker spaniel?'"

At this point, Cain was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Gods, it was like watching his son go through puberty, only inherently more amusing because Ambrose was a supremely well-respected man in the Outer Zone Royal Court. He was so stiff and proper and polite all the time, so brilliant and intimidating. When his insecurities showed through, it was like seeing him as an actual human being.

"You know, you're the second person in three days to laugh like that at my expense," he growled from his seat next to the Tin Man. "It must be going around."

"For goodness sake—at least _talk_ to the girl!" Cain ordered once he'd gotten his breath back. It really was _maddening_ trying to talk sense into this man. "The poor thing probably thinks she's scared you off for good, and for _what?_ For _you_ being way too modest on _her_ behalf."

"She's the _Princess,_ Cain."

"Yes, I've heard that, too. The rumour is going around." When he realized that his little joke hadn't had the desired effect, he rolled his eyes. "Look, if it doesn't bother her then it shouldn't bother you. You can't go on avoiding her forever. You've hardly lasted three days."

"But she's the Princess," he repeated.

The other man ground his clawed hands into his scalp in frustration. "Who cares!" He bellowed. "She doesn't, and neither should you! This is a woman who _likes you,_ remember?"

"She's—"

"If you say the word 'princess' one more time I will kill you, so help me," Cain declared. He was quiet for several moments, leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed. "You shouldn't let a wonderful thing slip away while you're busy taking it apart and examining the pieces."

"And what do I do about this whole… nudity projection… thing?"

"It'll wear off."

"You're sure of this."

He cracked on eye. "Of course I'm sure—it's part of being an adult. You think every time I look at my wife I imagine her naked?"

Pause.

"I mean habitually."

"Of course not," Ambrose said as he fidgeted nervously. "I'm still not sure what I should say. Or do. Or anything."

"Well, whatever you do, you'd better do it _soon._ You're not going to get any work done while you're like this." He stood up and downed the last of his drink.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm on duty in half an hour. And you've got a girl to go find. At the very least tell her you're sorry for being an idiot and ignoring her for three days." Cain clapped him on the back roughly. "Good luck."

Of course, he thought as he watched his "little voice of reason" leave, he'd _need_ all the luck he could get. Just watch—he'd take one look at her and immediately blurt out the word "naked" or dump a quart of drool onto the floor or faint outright. He decided years ago that he must have been out from school sick the day that they taught "How to Talk to Girls Without Having to Worry About Accidental Words."

Cain had been right about one thing though—he _had_ been rather ignoring her since it had happened and more than likely it was worrying her. It would be best if he went and apologized for it before she came and found him.

He closed up and locked the door leading from his study to the balcony and put everything in order before he went for the door to the hall. He opened it and found himself staring face to face with an equally startled DG.

She wore a knee-length dress and petticoats, her hair done in twin braids resting on either side of her chest. There was a bundle of something in one arm and her other hand was up as if she had been just about to knock on the door.

"Oh!" She stepped backwards and put the hand over her heart. "I—um—I came to talk to you."

He stood staring dumbly at her, looking vacant and blinking. He looked like a cow caught in the path of a fast-moving truck.

The residual common sense left over from his talk with Cain was screaming in the back of his head, _"SAY SOMETHING TO HER. SOMETHING SENSIBLE. DON'T MAKE A FOOL OF YOURSELF!"_

Then he noticed that he wasn't talking at all and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Hello, Doll." He only realized what he'd said after the words came out of his mouth. Humiliated, he closed his eyes and bumped his head a few times against the side of the open door. "Oh, gods, that was stupid—I have absolutely no idea where that came from."

She was covering her mouth and laughing quietly behind her hand. "Actually, I thought it was kinda sweet. You can call me that if you want to." Her smile was shy. Then she remembered the actual reason she'd come to see him; she held her arms out in front of her, presenting him with a neatly folded, faded old black-and-orange striped shirt.

"What's…?" He asked, taking it. It was the old shirt he used to wear under his uniform in the winter to guard against the cold. "Hey, this is_mine._ I haven't seen this old thing in years, I thought they misplaced it in the laundry." He looked at her quizzically. "How did _you_ get it?"

She looked nervously down at her feet, fiddling with the fabric of her dress. "I kind of… took it. From your office, years and years ago."

"I know this might be kind of an obvious question, but—_why?"_

"I was lonely," she confessed. "I missed you a lot when I was at school, and I wore it to sleep in because it reminded me of you. But… now that I'm not in school, I guess I don't need it anymore, so you can have it back."

She must have _really_ liked him when she was little to steal his shirt like that. He looked down at the shirt and, unbidden, an image flashed in his mind of DG wearing his shirt and not much else, with a little smile on her lips…

"Ambrose?"

He pulled himself back into the real world—he really had to stop this nasty habit of daydreaming around her like he did. He handed the garment back to her.

"Why don't you keep it?" He offered. "It'll give you something to hold onto for the times I'm acting like an idiot and can't talk to you for days at a time." He blushed even as he said it.

She bit her lower lip and smiled slightly; that look always made his insides flutter excitedly.

"There's something in there for you," she said.

"In?" There was that image in his head again.

"Just unfold it."

Ambrose did as he was told, letting the old shirt fall open. A piece of paper fluttered from the folds and he caught it; it was a drawing of a famous sculpture of a nude woman that was housed in the Outer Zone Museum of Art. Except DG had drawn comical, old-fashioned ladies underwear on the statue and had written, "Oops, sorry!" in a speech bubble over her head.

"It's meant to be a joke," she explained. "You were so scared of what happened the other day, I just wanted to make light of it."

He grinned. "Oh, that's good—very funny." He set the picture on his desk and handed the shirt back to her. "You can Cain are both quite good at making fun of me."

"Well… somebody has to do it. You're too stuffy to make fun of yourself," she teased him, giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow.

"I'm, I really _am_ sorry about the whole… accidental voyeurism and ignoring… thing," he apologized, finding himself at a loss for eloquence. Oh, gods, if he blushed any more his whole head might explode. All of the blood was draining out of the rest of his body and coming to circulate in his face.

"Will you stop being ridiculous about it? It was an _accident,_ and it was _funny!"_ Then she sighed. "Don't worry about it."

"I can't help it—that's what I do."

"I know. That's why you're so good at your job."

For some reason, this eased his mind immensely. She wasn't worried about it, she wasn't angry or embarrassed. She was long over it and made it clear that she wanted him to do the same.

And then there was quiet; neither could think of anything to say to the other. She was still absently fiddling with the hem of her skirts, and he was concentrating on getting all of the blood out of his face and back into the rest of his body where it belonged.

"D'you want to go out for a ride?" She asked candidly.

"A ride?"

"On horseback—you _can_ ride, can't you?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"It's just that it's a nice day and it'd be a shame to waste it, and you need to get out of your study a little more often." Pause. "Unless you have something you should be working on, in which case I should probably leave you alone."

Had it been anybody else in the universe, he would have turned down the offer in order to catch up on his work, but he we completely powerless to refuse DG. He was beginning to realize that the little Princess had more power over him than even the Queen herself did—and she didn't even realize it.

Resistance was pointless. "Sure, why not?" He said, smiling.

She took one of his hands in both of hers and backed out of the room with a darling little smile on her lips.

He followed her like an obedient dog the whole way down to the stables. When they walked in, groomsmen, stable-boys and other riders came from other areas of the building to stare at them and whisper. The Queen's Head Advisor and the Queen's youngest daughter, together, holding hands, exchanging quiet whispers, and preparing to go out on a private ride without a chaperone.

Oh, how the Gossip Brigade would gather around this one like vultures. Ambrose imagined how this particular rumour would twist and mutate by the next time he heard about it—by then it would probably have evolved to entail he and DG being found having sex in the stables, and she was pregnant with his love-child. Or something like that.

However much he hated the gossiping world of Court intrigue, it always made him laugh at how badly a story could transmute into something completely different. The only thing that worried him here was that the harshness of that world would hurt his Princess.

For now, though, there was just the anticipation of spending some alone time with her. Now that the air between them had been cleared he was anxious to be alone with her. Cain was right again, he thought to himself as they parted ways to go find their horses—he'd very nearly let a very, very good thing slip through his fingers.

An unoccupied stablehand brought out his mare, a sweet-tempered liver chestnut that he'd named Elena. He pulled himself into the saddle and made his way out into the field just beyond to wait for her. But she was already there, loping in circles astride a great big spotted stallion. Her hair and skirts streamed wildly behind her.

"You look ready to go," he commented, watching her steer her own mount to face him.

"I am!" She exclaimed, pushing her braids behind her with one hand. "Oliver and I are getting anxious to go for a ride. We haven't been out in a while."

"Oliver?" He asked, riding up alongside her.

"It's a silly name, I know," she admitted, playing with the big stallion's mane. "I was going to call him 'Hector' but it didn't fit him, so I changed it." She turned him around and took off towards the trail. "Come on, let's go!"

The casual ride turned into a race through the wooded trails and big open meadows around Finaqua. DG was a confident equestrian; she could ride circles around him—quite literally. She would gallop right out of sight, then turn around and tear back around and trap him by circling him. Then she would gallop off, leaving him to follow her by looking for her horse's tail. But she was relaxed and happy and carefree, so he was more than happy to play this little game with her.

Eventually, she stopped this cat-and-mouse chase and came to ride beside him, breathless and flushed.

"You know, it's no fun if you don't chase me," she said, pouting.

"Forgive me; I'm not nearly as confident in my abilities as an equestrian as you are." He took the reins in one hand and held the other one out to the side. She took it with a cheeky smile.

"Or is this just some sneaky trick so I'll slow down and we can hold hands?" She asked, giving his hand a little squeeze.

"It's possible. I'll let you decide." He kissed the back of her hand and delighted in the sound of her giggle at his actions.

"Either way is good for me," she murmured.

For a few moments the pair of them watched her stallion shamelessly showing off for Ambrose's mount. The horse's head and tail were raised high and his ears were pricked forward, and there was an almost cocky lilt in his step. The mare, in turn, was flicking her tail and tossing her mane coyly.

"How sweet," she crooned. "They're flirting."

"Do you think we set a bad example for them?" He teased.

"Oh, yes, we're so very naughty, aren't we? Sitting here in such close proximity, holding hands out in the open like a couple of depraved little deviants." Feigning shock, she dropped his hand pressed the back of hers dramatically against her forehead. "Whatever will people think? I mean, they're not even _married!"_

He put a hand over his mouth to muffle his amused snort; she did that impersonation far too well.

Satisfied now that she'd made him laugh, she settled comfortably into the saddle and they rode quietly for a long while. They came to the crest of a very high hill, overlooking the Lake Country and countryside extending far beyond the lands of Finaqua. It just went on for miles, further than the eye could see. It was unmarred and untouched by people, retaining a wild natural beauty. Sunlight glinted off of a bluish-green lake in the distance, and hillsides were splashed with colourful flowers.

"I used to think this was where the gods got all of their colours from," she remarked as they looked out over the scene. "If there isn't a colour on these hills, then you probably don't need it." She leaned forward on the stallion's neck, sighing pleasantly.

She was so different from him, he realized, so dreamy and carefree. She retained an almost childlike innocence in her outlook on a world that he knew and understood and analyzed every day of his adult life. It was hard to believe that such an odd pair could have anything in common, but they did. They just… fit together.

"It is beautiful," he agreed breathlessly. He rarely came out this far, and when he did he was usually too distracted to notice the world around him. The sight before him now was breathtakingly gorgeous—he wondered how he had managed to miss it after all this time.

The sun was starting to set, turning the clouds pinkish in colour and casting a yellow-orange glow over everything. He glanced at her, noticing how the light tinged her hair and face gold, seeing the sparkle in her eyes as she took in the view.

"Kinda makes you realize why the ancients thought the place was magical. It can't be this amazing and not have something mystical about it." Sigh. "I wish I could come out here more often."

"Why don't you?"

Her shoulders sagged. "Mother doesn't like it when I go far from the palace—we're not supposed to go out alone. Not since that whole… thing… happened years and years ago."

Ambrose nodded solemnly at the memory.

Some fifteen annuals ago, the two Princesses—well, more DG than her sister—had accidentally uncovered the resting place of the Witch of Old in the dense woods near Finaqua. Azkadellia, then twelve, managed to stop her sister from entering the cave and ran back to the palace for help. Residents within fifty miles were evacuated from the area and the whole of the Outer Zone was on pins and needles for weeks as sorcerers and alchemists and historians worked feverishly to assess and eliminate the threat. They sealed up the entrance to the cave, both physically and magically, carved ancient incantations against evil into the rocks, buried the whole area under tons and tons of soil—made sure that nothing would ever be able to find that cave again.

He remembered clearly how terrified the little girl had been, worried that she would be in a great deal of trouble or possibly be banished for her part in the problem. Even though she was very young, only five at the time, she knew perfectly well how close they had come to disaster.

The Queen had sent her family, and him, as far from Finaqua as she could, to the Ice Palace in the Northern Islands. There were precious few people around to watch the girls, so he'd become a sort of auxiliary backup babysitter—most of that time he spent trying to calm little DG down.

He'd felt so immensely sorry for the little girl.

After everything cleared up—a good two months later—she'd gone back to her normal, rambunctious self and continued bothering him in his study again. It never appeared that she had suffered any sort of permanent psychological damage from her ordeal and had been very much the same person she always was. Although after that point he'd been much more accommodating of her.

The Queen had also declared that her daughters were not to venture any further from the hedge maze without supervision when they were in Finaqua. Everybody knew that—but he didn't know those rules still applied.

"Is that the only reason you wanted me to come out with you?" He asked. "So you could come this far?"

"What? No, of course not!" She reassured quickly. "I just like being with you is all." A pink tinge came across her cheeks. "It's not like I don't come out here anyway. I'm good at not being caught."

He raised his eyebrows. "Disobeying rules?"

The corner of her mouth twitched in a feeble attempt at smiling. "Every opportunity I get. Az doesn't mind it so much, but for me…" she sighed. "Sometimes it feels like I'm suffocating."

She had no idea why she was spilling her grievances out to poor Ambrose—certainly unloading her problems on _him_ couldn't possibly be any good for him. But he sat there and listened attentively to every word she said.

"I'm sorry—that got a bit deep and personal, didn't it?" She apologized.

"I don't mind." He reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"And, hey—smile, Doll," he said, knowing it would make her laugh.

And laugh she did; she came down with a fit of giggles.

That sound was becoming something of an addiction for him.

Next to him, something shifted. Her horse had taken one step to the side at her command, closing the gap between them, their legs nearly touching. She turned her head shyly to the side to face him; he looked into her eyes and almost stopped breathing. Boldly, he moved first and closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. He felt her smile under his mouth and her hands threaded through his unruly, windblown hair.

She nipped playfully at his lower lip, giggling when he almost purred at her action.

"Come here," he whispered in her ear.

Before she could say anything, his arms encircled her and he lifted her up. She cried out in surprise, shocked at his strength, grasping at his shoulders as he brought her into his own saddle. He positioned her in front of him and kissed her again.

The mutual need for air forced them to part; she lipped his collarbone and he kissed under her ear, making each of them shiver happily. He rested his cheek against her temple, breathing hotly in her ear.

He was fast falling in love with this woman.

* * *

0...0...0...0...0

I'm not sure if the rest of the chapters will have this… massive length. I do have a nasty habit of rambling on, but I did want to lay some basis for a relationship here before we dive into the rest of their relationship.

Oh, and I can't claim ownership of the line, "...is the perfect girl for any man with half a brain who can get one eye open." That's a shameless theft of a line from Hitchcock's "Rear Window."

I hope you enjoyed this chapter—reviews are appreciated, but not required.


	2. Autumn

Wow, I'm sorry this took such a long time to get posted—the chapter sort of ran out of steam halfway through and needed a revamp. Then I had trouble writing the second half but I _finally_ got it finished, and I hope it doesn't disappoint. The next chapter is already hard at work in my head; it's just a matter of getting it out on paper now.

I feel like I also have to apologize to anybody who was confused last chapter. I forgot to mention that this story is AU, it's a "whatif" scenario between DG and Glitch/Ambrose, regarding what could possibly have happened if the Witch _hadn't_ attacked Azkadellia and things had stayed as they had been. This means that the Queen is still the Queen, DG was never sent to the Other Side, Ambrose never became Glitch, and Adora is still alive and well. Really, I just wanted to write how a relationship between Ambrose and DG might have worked out if things had happened differently. Sorry for all the confusion! As you can probably tell, it's been a long while since last I wrote fanfiction.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing the characters. Sci-Fi owns them but their lease policy is very reasonable.

* * *

0...0...0...0...0 

Autumn had to be her favourite of the seasons. It was colourful and comfortable, they spent it at her favourite of all of the palaces, Caledonia, and the weather was perfect. Warm enough to not have to bundle up in heavy wool cloaks to go outside—but cool enough to not have to strip off and go swimming in a creek, frightening a certain Head Advisor so badly that he didn't talk for three days.

Fortunately, they had both gotten over that. DG had gone to her sister, worried and embarrassed and perhaps a little frightened, for advice. Azkadellia, much to her chagrin, spent the first few minutes laughing at her plight before offering sound advice.

"Ambrose is so proper and so concerned about _you_ that I'll bet he's more worried and embarrassed about this whole thing than you could possibly ever be. Go over and talk to him, let him know you're not angry."

And she knew that her sister was right—Ambrose was a dear, sweet man but a bit of a stuffed shirt and would put propriety in front of his own feelings. And hers. So she'd followed her sister's advice and in the end everything had worked out just fine.

It was late in September, now, growing closer to the Hunter's Moon, and it had been several months since her return from school. She was slowly becoming re-adjusted to life at Court, but she had no real interest in taking part of Courtly matters and avoided them at all costs. Most of the time, she preferred instead to spend time drawing, or being outdoors, or tucking herself away in the libraries, or daydreaming, or _anything_ really.

She didn't know what it was; part of her knew that being the Princess was part of her life, part of her duty to her family, something that she had to buck up and just _do._Butthe other part of her wanted to leave all of the palaces and Courts and fanciness behind and become a wandering artist and see the world. Ahamo called her a "wild child." Her mother just said, "you _are_ your father's daughter," a lot. She wasn't sure if that was a compliment, a complaint, or just an observation.

Through her sister, DG had seen what came along with being a Princess and what she would have to put up with; her sister had had to deal with political, conniving "friends" who only liked her because of her title and wanted to take advantage of a friendship with Royalty. She'd also had her share of advances from young men who only wanted the distinction of being involved with a Princess. Az was good at playing the game and juggled them all expertly, telling them to take their political ambitions and panhandling and stick them where the suns didn't shine. Only not in precisely those words. Azkadellia was perfectly suited to the life of the Royal Court, to being the Princess and eventually to being the Queen.

DG, not so much. She just didn't have the passive-aggressive personality that allowed her mother and sister to be able to simultaneously be polite while telling someone to shove off. When she didn't want anything to do with the person, she either ignored them or outright yelled. Which was more to her nature, but decidedly un-Princess-like.

She spent her entire secondary school career keeping her title a secret, because she didn't want to put up with any of the same crap she saw Azkadellia go through in school. Her classmates treated her just as they would any other shy, artistic pupil, which meant that they largely ignored her, which suited the young Princess just fine.

And anyway—she got plenty of this "your Highness" talk when she was at home. It was nice for people to remember that she was a _person_ and not just a figurehead with a title. Ambrose was actually quite good for that, when he was relaxed and at ease.

At the moment, she was already in a bit of trouble for not being quite Princess-ly enough. During a meeting with some very important high-ranking people, she'd fallen completely dead-asleep in her tea from listening to boring talk for three hours. She was _supposed_ to be taking notes and applying her lessons in statecraft and management to the problems being addressed, and offer an opinion if she had one. But mostly she kept doodling on her notepad and daydreaming about Ambrose, who was seated at the far end of the table absorbed deeply in conversation. Then eventually, she just fell asleep.

Oh, the public scolding she'd gotten from her mother—it was humiliating, not only for being so public but for being told off like a small child at the age of twenty annuals. She loved her mother but she wished sorely that she wouldn't treat her like a little girl anymore. And to accept that she just didn't have the natural talent for dealing with matters of the state.

The Queen and Azkadellia were also making preparations for the annual All Hallows ball, which she was also expected to help plan but she wanted no part of that right now.

Right now all she wanted to do was cool off and be by herself so nobody could laugh at her. She'd stormed off from the conference room, angry and blushing furiously, to try and find a place where she could be alone and avoid talking to anybody about what had just happened.

She settled on the stables, tucking herself into a stall with Ambrose's mare, Elena, and a little black barn cat who sat purring in her arms. The Princess had every intention of staying down in the hay until nightfall and sneaking back into her rooms under the cover of dark. As long as her _own_ mounts were safely in their stalls, nobody would think to look for her here.

After quietly stewing for several minutes, she was starting to feel better and took the laces out of one of her boots to amuse her little feline friend. The warm sunlight streaming through one of the high windows, and the comfortingly musty smell of the stables—of hay, horses, leather, and sweet grain—all combined to make her very drowsy and she began to doze off. She didn't know when she fell asleep, but she must have, because the next thing she became aware of was a man's voice.

"Well, ain't that a sweet picture."

She jolted right out of her slumber, sitting upright and looking about frantically in surprise and alarm.

"What the—oh, it's you. Hello, Mr. Cain." She yawned, absently reaching up to pick bits of bedding and hay from her hair. "Didja come here to laugh at me, too? I bet the story's gone around _all_ of the OZ by now." She didn't feel much like being polite right now; if she was going to be in a bad mood, then she wasn't going to bother being nice to anybody else.

Cain ignored her outburst and tugged the brim of his hat. "Look, I'm just supposed to be in Caledonia on brief business, but your manfriend is worried about you."

"My…_what?"_ That was certainly an unfamiliar expression, so she took a guess at what he meant. "You mean Ambrose?"

"Yeah. And he's giving everybody else a hard time."

She grunted in an extremely undignified manner. At the moment she didn't really want any company that didn't have four feet and a tail. Nor did she want to have to talk to Ambrose after that humiliating scolding from her mother.

"Don't tell him I'm here," she begged.

The Tin Man sighed heavily and put his head on his folded arms over the stall gate. "For goodness sake—the two of you! You're both impossible."

DG had no idea what he was ranting about but she assumed it had to do with the fact that both she herself and Ambrose drove _everybody_ up the wall at one time or another.

"Hey—she's in here!" The man called over his shoulder, clearly speaking to someone nearby. "I'm going back to work now. If you have any more problems, _please_ try and solve them yourself without bothering me."

Her eyes went wide and she wondered, briefly, if she might be able to escape through a window. Probably not a good idea, she decided, and waited for the inevitable.

"Highness," Cain said, bowing slightly and walking away. He was immediately replaced by the Head Advisor, who looked immensely worried and dishevelled.

"Do you have _any_ idea how worried I've been about you?" He demanded, flinging open the stall gate and tumbling in, startling his rather confused-looking mare. "You just took off and nobody's seen you since!"

"Look, I've already had one telling-off today, I don't need another one, thanks," she growled. She knew she'd regret being so mean to him, but right now she was in a foul temper.

"You don't need to be so short with me—I'm just concerned. Are you all right?"

Another grunt. She turned her head away from him and idly wove her boot-lace through her fingers. "Sure. I'm fine. Is that all you came for?"

He stood in front of her with his arms crossed sternly.

"What're you still doing here?"

"It's my stall, you know. I pay to keep my horse here," he retorted, trying to sound just a curt as she did. But she wasn't fooled for a second.

She sighed and shook her head. "What time is it?" She asked, wondering how he'd managed to get so flustered in such a short period of time.

"You'll have to ask me nicely."

She rolled her eyes. "Please, I beseech thee, Master Ambrose, to bequeath to me the knowledge of the hour in this day."

"Now you're just being fresh."

"Yeah, well, I'm in a lousy mood—being polite just gets in the way."

He shuffled through the thick bedding and plunked himself down into the hay next to her; Elena looked rather disgruntled that yet _another_ human was sitting in her food. Reaching over, he cupped her chin in his hand and traced his thumb gently across her cheek.

"I really _was_ worried about you, Deege," he said softly.

To his disappointment, she batted his hand away. "In case you didn't notice, I'm not keen on being treated like a little kid." There could have been icicles dripping off her words.

"I'm_not_ treating you like a child!" He protested. "At least, I'm not trying to. If I was, I apologize."

"I just don't wanna talk about it," she said, drawing her legs up and hugging her knees.

"I didn't come here to talk about 'it.' What I said was what I meant—I'd been worried about you. But if you'd rather I let you be, then that's fine…"

As he got up to leave, he felt a hand grabbing the edge of his coat, stopping him midway.

"No, please stay. I'm… sorry." Her voice was uncharacteristically small. When he'd settled back down next to her, she continued. "I know I'm impossible when I'm angry. I didn't mean to upset you."

He absently toyed with a lock of her hair. "Not impossible," he corrected. "Understandably disgruntled."

"She just treated me like a little girl in front of all those people—if she wants me to run the place someday, it stands to reason that she shouldn't give them cause to look down on me," she blurted out, unable to stop herself. "What've they got to go on now? 'Princess DG, the one that didn't come out quite right.'"

"That's absolutely not true and you know it. She didn't mean it that way," he murmured.

"You're right, she didn't. But… that's how it came across," she whimpered, resting her chin on her knees. "If I ask you nicely, will you tell me what time it is now?" She asked.

"Just after five, I think," he said, winding one of her curls around his little finger.

Her eyes went wide. "That late? It's no wonder you were panicking! It's been four hours."

He nodded. "That it has. I had no idea where you'd gone. Though you've said it before—I worry needlessly."

"You're starting to make me feel guilty."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to," he quickly assured. Then he tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear.

"I know—you never mean anything bad, Ambrose," she smiled timidly, leaning tentatively up against him.

He felt immediately relieved to have that contact again. "You know, I could have a key to my study made for you—you could come there if you want to be let alone. Nobody would bother you there."

"Really?"

"Certainly; at least I'll know where you are and I won't panic."

"And you won't annoy the hell out of everybody else, either," she teased, grinning.

He_loved_ her smile; he would let her tease him just because the reward for it was that smile. "That, too," he agreed. His hand gently burrowed under her hair to twirl in the soft baby-hairs at the nape of her neck.

"Did anybody else lose their head about me being missing, or was it just you?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, no—it was just me. Everybody else said you'd come back when your head had cooled and not to worry."

"They were right, you know. I always come back—not right away, sometimes I'm gone all day. But I come back." She craned her head back around the hand on her neck and sighed. "I guess you're bound to worry more about me now that you _like_ me and I'm not annoying the piss out of you."

As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, what she said was true. He was far more concerned for her now than he ever was when he knew her as a girl; certainly the combination of his habitual worry and their budding romance was contributing to it. In truth, he'd once revelled in the time when she wasn't around to get underfoot. These days it was exactly opposite.

How strange and wonderful it was how much things had changed.

DG rubbed her upper arms briskly—it was getting cooler come evening, and her short sleeves did nothing to ward off the chill. It'd probably be better if she headed back indoors soon…

Warm, heavy folds of cloth settled on her shoulders: Ambrose's coat. She pulled the overlarge garment around herself.

"Thanks," she said, sliding her arms into the sleeves. They were a good six inches too long and covered her hands.

"I take it you're feeling better now?" He asked.

"Much." She snuggled against him. "But I still don't wanna go back inside."

He put his arm over her shoulders and nuzzled her neck.

"Then we won't," he said.

There was a definite drawback, Cain decided late that night as he searched the stables for a _second_ time that day, to being so good at his job. It meant, for one thing, that he was trusted to do many more duties outside of the ones he'd been assigned. Like looking for renegade Princesses and missing Advisors and being called upon to handle panic and disorder wherever he happened to be at the moment.

Nobody knew where Ambrose or the Princess had gone. It wasn't at all unusual for Princess DG to leave for hours at a time when she wanted to be alone, but the inventor was another story; it wasn't like him to go missing. So the Mystic Man had offered up his best man—Wyatt Cain—for the job of locating them when the Queen started to worry about them. And Cain headed for the stables, knowing that that was the last place he'd seen them.

He grabbed a lantern and poked his head over all of the stall doors, looking for someone who didn't belong there. He found them in the same stall he'd left them—they were asleep in a pile of hay, nestled close together with Ambrose's coat spread over them like a blanket.

He sighed enormously, shaking his head in amusement. That image was nauseatingly adorable. Quietly, he backed away and let them sleep in peace.

Maybe_now_ he could get back to work.

* * *

0...0...0...0...0 

All Hallows—the night the dead walk. Or so the stories went. The night once had roots in serious religious ritual; it was said that on this night, the spirits of those who were wicked in life would slide between the worlds and come back to torment the people they left behind, not content that death should end their torment. The way to avoid this inevitable fate was to wear a disguise, so that the ghosts might not recognize their intended victims.

Of course, nobody actually believed those old legends now. The religious nature of the night had waned over the centuries until all that remained of the event was the All Hallows masquerade, which the Queen sponsored every year and made a grand event of. Now was a night for revellers, masks, frivolity—

A party.

He wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but Ambrose was _fairly_ certain that he'd sworn himself off of public parties to avoid the humiliation that came with inevitably being shunned by every woman and girl within twenty miles. But he showed up tonight anyway, because he knew DG would be here tonight and he didn't want to miss that for anything. It surprised and perhaps worried him a little when he thought of just how much power she had over him. He sincerely hoped that she never found out.

So here he was, feeling ridiculous and wishing he could see through the masks so he could find her.

Unlike on regular formal occasions, the Royal Family weren't announced or heralded; to maintain a certain degree of anonymity, they entered, costumed, with everybody else. And she had refused to tell him what her costume was, so he didn't have even the vaguest clue what to look for.

His own costume was rather simple and generic. He wasn't a story character or mythological figure. He just wore his black trousers and the shorter tailcoat with a few white embellishments at the edges, white-and-gold vest, plain shirt, and gloves and boots. The mask, too, was decidedly simple: black and gold designs set in a white base. The palace seamstress had crooned that he looked very dashing all dressed up, but Ambrose rather doubted that. He felt… _silly._

On a reflex, he made his way to the emptiest corner where he could survey the room without getting in the way. Several people had already paired off with partners for the evening, some on the basis of matching costumes—like the man and woman, clearly strangers, dressed as doves—and others because they knew one another—like the couple who weren't quite dancing but leaning against one another and swaying back and forth. Other guests flirted shamelessly, apparently neither knowing nor caring who was behind the mask.

Something rather odd, he'd always noticed, happened to people when they put on a mask; it was as if propriety changed or all together vanished. The rules changed. The "not-quite-dancing" couple he'd noticed earlier turned out to be the Queen and Prince Consort.

His finely-tuned scientific mind just couldn't figure it.

Several minutes of looking didn't bring him any closer to finding the Princess, and he was just about ready to give up and go outside to get away from the crowds. But when he turned around to leave, he collided with a smaller figure who had been standing just behind him.

_"Oof—_I beg your pardon, my lady, I didn't see you there…" he began to apologize, but the words tapered off and he didn't finish.

"Maybe I shouldn't have been behind you like that," the young woman said, her eyes creasing with mirth behind the black-and-gold mask. "You startle too easily."

He'd know those blue eyes anywhere.

"Prin—DG… you… that's…" he creased his eyebrows, trying to come up with something to say. "We match," was all he could come up with.

She grinned slyly. "I thought maybe it'd make it easier for you to find me, but I guess not."

Her dress mirrored his: black skirts with white trim, a gold-and-white corset cinched tightly, and a mask that was a near copy of his. Her hair hung loose and wavy down her back.

"I'm sorry—I had no idea what to look for," he apologized. "But you—you look… that is…" he cleared his throat nervously, thankful that his mask was obscuring the redness on his face.

She moved around him so her back was to the dance floor, and put out her hand. "Shall we dance?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I thought the gentleman asked this question," he remarked as she took his hand and he let her lead him away from his quiet little corner.

"It's All Hallows," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. "The rules are different tonight."

Ambrose spent much of their dance pondering the Princess's words. But she was making it extremely difficult. She danced close to him, far closer than decorum allowed for; trailed her fingers up the back of his neck and knotted in his curls, and tugged them gently; brazenly kissed his neck when she spun into him at the end of the dance. It sent a delicious tingle up his spine.

"Deege," he forced himself to say. "That's a bit… improper, don't you think?"

"Does it matter?" She asked softly, her breath tickling his ear.

"Shouldn't it?" He squeaked, feeling, erroneously, that everybody in the room was staring at them. "I mean… you're the Princess and—"

"But nobody else knows that," she interrupted, leading them both off of the floor before they were run over by dancing couples. Once they were out of the way, she continued. "We could be anybody for all everybody else knows."

His forehead creased over the mask and she knew that he was deep in thought. He always did that when he was thinking. She shook her head. He was _impossible._ He was just _fine_ when they were alone together, and he was relaxed and at ease and talkative and… affectionate. But when they were in public or out and about, he was often struck with the urge to maintain a respectable distance between them. And she hated that.

"When you say the rules are different," he said slowly, "how, exactly, do you mean?"

"It means… nothing has to be like it usually is. We're free to be different from ourselves tonight."

Pause.

"How different?" He asked.

Her lips curled up in an impish feline grin that made him simultaneously nervous and excited. "As much as you like," she purred.

She could practically _hear_ the gears in his head turning, and she hoped he would get it. He looked about the room a few times, scanning the various occupants. Some of them he recognized, or thought he recognized, but most he couldn't begin to guess. The masquerade was keeping its secrets.

Taking both of her hands in his, he smiled and equally sly smile. "Come and dance with me, Doll," he said, using that private nickname in a setting where he'd normally be very proper.

_Finally._

He twirled her effortlessly around the floor, holding her close against him with his hands low on her hips. He got bolder as they went, dipping her low and tracing her collarbone briefly with his lips; she yipped quietly and shivered, and her response encouraged him. He dragged his lips lower, stopping just at the top edge of her corset before letting her upright again and spinning them in circles.

They danced with one another for a long time, Ambrose surprising DG with just how daring he was being. His hands went where she would normally hit somebody for putting them, mouthed tantalizingly light kisses on her neck and shoulders, whispered warm and sweetly in her ear whenever he got close.

She all but purred. If only she might convince him to be like this more often.

A young man in flamboyant blue tapped him on the shoulder, forcing him to tear himself away from DG and see who dared to interrupt them just when he was starting to have fun.

"May I cut in?" He asked with a smirk.

The Head Advisor paused and thought a moment. Etiquette required that he let the man cut in and dance with his partner. Even if he didn't want to let him. And he absolutely did _not_ want to let some cocky kid interrupt his dance.

"Absolutely not," he replied, turning away from the youth and stepping away.

His mouth dropped open. "You're supposed to—" he began to protest.

"Not tonight, kid," Ambrose growled back, and then proceeded to put as much distance as possible between them.

DG burrowed her face into his chest and laughed, hardly able to concentrate on her steps.

"You think that's hilarious, don't you?" He asked, craning back so she would look up at him.

"Yes, I do," she wheezed as she caught her breath. She only maintained herself for a few second before breaking into giggles again. "You don't want to share."

"Of course I don't," he declared. Then he leaned down and breathed in her ear, "I'm not giving you up for anything tonight."

Her heart jumped at his words and she felt her cheeks grow warm. There was that sweetness she so adored—even though it was just the anonymity of the masquerade that made him so uninhibited, it still made her insides go fluttery. Might as well take advantage of it while it lasted, she decided, and she rose to her toes and gently pecked him on the lips.

When she pulled away, he was grinning stupidly; he leaned down and whispered, "I could get in a great deal of trouble for publicly debauching the Princess, you know."

"Only if they know it's me," she retorted. "And they don't."

Her tone practically _dared_ him to try something.

So he did.

He hoisted her up by the waist and held him up against him so that she hovered a head above him. He spun around; she laughed and threw her arms out behind her, tossed her head back. They'd attracted something of an audience now, people who had slowed or stopped and were now whispering amongst themselves, wondering who was that matching couple putting on a show in the middle of the ballroom.

When he'd stopped turning, she leaned forward and fastened her arms about his neck, pressing her forehead against his.

"There's people staring," she murmured.

"Really? I hadn't even noticed."

DG grinned broadly and kissed him sweetly, and Ambrose found himself suddenly concentrating very hard on not dropping her on the floor. He kissed her back again and again, teasing her lips with his and holding her tightly to him. Some of the onlookers were whistling and a few were even applauding the show.

"Such cheek," he growled against her lips.

"I know—isn't it great?" She giggled.

"Only for tonight," he replied, and let her down again with one final peck. He felt flushed and giddy and oddly juvenile—highly unusual for him. The Princess was changing him, for certain, even if she didn't realize it. He had always been so content in his role as the Head Advisor, never felt as though anything was missing. But now… now he was seeing things differently, under her intoxicating influence.

It was wonderful.

He brushed her fingers against his lips.

She smiled cockily. "I told you so. And look—nobody's come to shoot you for kissing the Princess in public."

He laughed softly and kissed her forehead. _"Such_ cheek, Doll."

"But only for tonight, right?"

"Oh, no," he purred. "Anything less from you and I might get bored."

"I guess I'm a counterweight for your seriousness."

He smirked. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just like your spunk."

"'Spunk'?" She repeated. "You ought to call it what everybody else does—I'm unpredictable. And maybe a little crazy."

"Well, whatever you call it—I still love it." He drew her in close, one hand against her back and the other gently combing a lock of hair behind her ear.

She sighed happily and leaned against his chest.

"I suppose now isn't a good time to try asking for a dance again," came a male voice. It was the man in blue again. DG groaned and shook her head.

"Haven't I told you off already?" Ambrose asked dismissively.

_"You_ have. But I have yet to hear the lady's opinion."

"She doesn't want to go with you."

"So say you. You might let her answer for herself." The young man sounded downright arrogant.

"Go away," he growled.

He swiftly ignored this directive. "Miss, may I have a dance?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. He was irritating. "You heard the man," she said. "Shove off. I've already got a partner, in case you hadn't noticed, and it's not you. Now run along and go find somebody else to annoy. Or I could slap you now and save you the trouble."

As he skulked off, defeated, grumbling to himself, Ambrose leaned his head against her shoulder and quaked with quiet laughter.

"Do I amuse you?" She asked pleasantly.

"Just your spunk," he gasped.

Her eyes sparkled mirthfully. "Of course."

She backed away from him and tugged on his hand. "Come outside with me," she said. "We can talk there without being bothered by anybody."

He followed her towards the doors leading out to the terrace. "Good idea."

They were alone outside—all of the activity was indoors and there was a cold nip in the late October air. The sky wore a blanket of clouds, blocking all of the light from the moon and stars. Heavy stone garden lights with fat tapers in them provided the terrace with a warm orange glow.

She sighed shallowly and tapped on the busk of her corset.

"Nobody's watching us, are they?"

He looked back. "No, I don't think so—why?"

With a grunt, she began working at the fastenings down her front. "I can't stand wearing these things," she rasped. "Mother and Az do it all the time but I never understood how they manage it."

He hoped she wasn't about to do what he thought she was about to do. Certainly not out here. But she did. Deft fingers popped the closures open one by one until she slid out of the garment all together, leaving her wearing the plain black underdress.

She took an enormously deep breath and released it with a relieved smile. "Finally—that's the first deep breath I've taken all night." She folded the garment up and held it underneath her arm.

"For a moment there you had me nervous," he managed to choke out.

"You didn't think I was going to strip naked in front of you, did you?" She asked with a mischievous grin.

He blushed and cleared his throat. "Maybe."

"Or were you _hoping?"_ She teased.

He chose not to answer that—her teasing was in fact much closer to the mark than she might have realized. Instead, he nervously threaded his hands through his mess of curls.

Really, she'd been the subject of his daydreams for a long time, parading naked through his head since Finaqua—though he'd never actually admit that to her. But she absolutely _consumed_ his thoughts. He knew perfectly well how ridiculous it was that he should feel this way so soon after meeting her again, never thought himself a candidate for "love at first sight." Such silliness was so far below him. Or so he'd always thought.

And yet here was the evidence to the contrary. The Princess herself, the daughter of his monarch; he was hopelessly, pathetically in love with her. He wanted nothing more at the moment than to bring her back up to his rooms, scoop her up into his arms, and drop her into bed and—

Only he didn't dare think any further. This growing bad habit of his of falling into daydreams in her presence had to stop.

It was very difficult _not_ to, though.

"Ambrose?" She put a warm hand to his cheek, bringing him back to the real world with a jolt. "Come sit," she backed up to one of the curved stone benches, beckoning him with a gentle sweep of her hand across his face. His legs moved of their own accord and he followed her, sat close to her on the cold stone.

He brought his hands to her arms, sliding his fingers up her arms, tickling her with his nails and making her shiver delectably. Goosebumps rose on her skin where he touched her. His hands climbed higher to rest on her shoulders briefly before he gently reached up and removed her mask.

Gods, she was beautiful.

The mask fell to the ground unnoticed and he stroked her face affectionately. DG turned and pressed a kiss to his palm, keeping her eyes on him. Her gaze was intense, unreadable.

He felt her hands slide up his chest; her fingers ghosted the back of his neck and traced the outline of his mask before tugging it away from his face. As soon as it was gone, she kissed across his cheeks, the tip of his nose, impishly nipped the edge of his jaw. She'd come up flush against him, warm and close with her arms around him and whispering unintelligibly against his neck.

He kissed her shoulder and the crook of her neck, delighting in her soft purrs and shallow whimpers. He clutched at her waist as she leaned into him.

And then, suddenly, most certainly unwelcome, his thoughts turned respectable. He couldn't let all of this All Hallows silliness go to his head, couldn't let himself do anything that either of them might regret.

So, mustering the last of his resolve, he lifted her off of him and settled her back onto the stone bench with a decent enough distance between them. The task was arduous; he wanted to keep her close to him. The Princess growled in frustration at the loss and looked at him with knit brows and confused expression.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispered, the familiar feeling of paranoia creeping back into his stomach. This was a terrible time for that to happen. "It's dangerous—we could be seen. This… isn't the place for that," he forced himself to say. Oh, how he wanted to, but he just couldn't.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Then let's go somewhere that _is,"_ she replied as if this was the most obvious solution in the world.

"W-what?"

Her small smile sent him reeling.

"Let's go somewhere that we can carry on. I know what I'm doing, Ambrose."

Pause.

"All Hallows," he murmured.

That smile grew, curled up. "The rules change," she reminded him. "At dawn everything goes back to its normal boring self." She stood and held out a hand. "Unless we don't want it to."

He stared at her outstretched hand for a long while, as if it was something completely alien and unfamiliar.

"Well," he cleared his throat and took her hand as he stood up. "Come with me, then, Doll."

* * *

0...0...0...0...0 

Ooh, a dirty little cliffhanger! You all know what's gonna happen, though, don't you? Maybe one day I'll get up the guts to write out a lemon, but for now you'll just have to make do with this.

Reviews are welcome and appreciated, but not demanded.

Edit: I'm sorry for those of you who keep getting notified that I'm updating my story. This site has changed a lot over the years and I keep trying to format the chapters so the scene breaks are clearer. It's not working, so this is the best I can manage!


	3. Winter

AAHH! I'm so sorry about how long this #&-ing chapter has taken—I thought I could get it out in a week or so, but things didn't quite turn out that way! Most of you who read the El-Jay community or read the author's notes for my hold-over one-shot a while ago will know that real life, as it so often does, _KICKED MY ASS._

What I'm trying to say is that I apologize for the delay and I hope that this chapter makes up for it.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters portrayed here. Unless you don't recognize them, then chances are I made them up.

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o…o

"Why are you even in here, DG?" Azkadellia demanded as she meticulously folded and sorted garments into five trunks placed around her bedchambers, preparing for the forthcoming move from Caledonia to the winter residence in the Northern Islands.

"I just like seeing you when you're frazzled," the younger Princess replied from the deep windowsill, swinging her feet over the edge. "You're always so put-together and intimidating and perfect, seeing you stressed sort of puts you back into perspective. Makes you more like a person."

Az growled and continued to organize and pack her clothes. "What do you mean, it 'makes me look more like a person'?"

"You're intimidating," she repeated.

"So you said, but what does that mean?"

DG sighed and fidgeted slightly on her perch. "Well… you're the _good_ Princess, Az. You know, good at being royalty, good at handling people, a good sorceress—just generally _good."_

"We're not starting on that again, are we, Deege?" The older Princess asked. She stopped what she was doing to plant her hands on her hips and watch her little sister carefully. "I thought we'd left all of that behind us."

She looked into her lap and shook her head. "We have—don't worry," she said, as much to reassure herself as to reassure Azkadellia. She'd never meant to dredge up old grievances.

It was true, though—the older Princess had always been the "good" one of the pair. She was always the level head to her own impulsivity, keeping her from doing dangerous or stupid things and helping her when her studies proved difficult or too tiresome to concentrate on. In childhood, they were the closest of friends, though as they grew older and grew apart, that changed.

DG never managed to grow up in quite the same way her sister had. While Azkadellia grew, matured, and settled into sedate adulthood, the younger Princess had always resisted her role, gnashing at the bit to test and break the boundaries. She was hopelessly dreamy and adventurous, traits she never seemed to grow out of—a fact that some found endearing, and others lamented. Certainly they were unseemly traits for a member of the Royal Family.

Of course, all of the adolescent envy of her sister had passed, and their friendship had rekindled in the last few years now that they were adults.

But it didn't stop DG from sometimes absolutely _marvelling_ at how different they were from one another.

"So, baby sister, is there are particular reason you've come here? Watching me pack can't be _that_ exciting a spectator sport."

Caught. She fidgeted at the question. Azkadellia always knew when something was troubling her; she only wished she knew _how_ she managed it. Sometimes she felt as if she had a sign hanging over her head, broadcasting her thoughts for her big sister to read.

"Have you—have you noticed Ambrose acting a bit… odd, lately?"

She paused for a moment to think. "Ambrose? Acting strangely? I don't know how you can possibly gauge that."

"I mean more than usual."

Az tilted her head briefly in thought. "I don't think so, but then I don't spend a great deal of time around him. What's wrong?"

She sighed. "I dunno—he's just been sort of… distant lately."

"Is something the matter with him?"

A shrug was her reply. "I dunno that, either. It's hard to get him to tell me anything."

Of late, the Head Advisor had been rather evasive and hard to talk to. It seemed that he mostly just wanted to be left alone, which she did rather than irritate him by being around and unwanted. But if something was troubling him—and certainly something _was_—then she wanted to know what it was. She'd never push him, of course, and she'd let him tell her in his own time, but in the meantime it was disconcerting being kept in the dark.

Since All Hallows, they had grown… closer. The sweet casualness that she persuaded him to adopt at the masquerade had stayed around, much to DG's happiness. Most nights were spent in his room, since it was easier for her to get to _his_ rooms in the Academic's Wing than it was for him to sneak into her rooms in the Royal's private quarters undetected at night.

And then of course he'd abruptly stopped coming to his own room to sleep at night, even when she reminded him that she'd be there. He made up silly, vague excuses and made his apologies, but never offered any real explanation.

So she stopped coming and gone back to sleeping alone.

"Did anything happen?" She asked in a maternal fashion.

"Again—I have no idea."

Azkadellia did not look convinced.

"Anything you'd like to _share_ with your big sister?" She prodded. The question was sly.

DG covered her cheeks with her hands. "Oh, no, Az. Love life, mine, prying—please stop. The last thing I need is for you to know the sordid details of my sex life."

"So you slept with him, then?"

_"Stop that!"_ She squealed, her eyes wide as her sister grinned at her embarrassment.

She smirked at DG's embarrassment and then went back to asking questions. "He's evasive? Not talking?"

"Not himself," she supplied as a sort of an explanation. "I'm just not sure what's going on. At least after what happened at Finaqua, I was pretty sure that he was scared because he accidentally saw me naked."

Az snorted despite herself. "So what do you plan on doing?"

She shrugged as a way of responding. "If I was _you,_ I could get him to spill everything without rousing suspicion—"

"Hush that, Deege," she interrupted sternly.

"Right. Anyway—I have no means of getting him to talk, so the best I can do is wait for _him_ to come to _me."_

"I'm sure you could come up with something. You know him best, after all."

"I could tickle it out of him but he doesn't like that."

Az sat on the top of one of the bulging trunks to try and get the lid to close properly.

"If I'm going to give you advice, at least make yourself useful and come sit on this thing."

"Alternatively, you could just bring less clothing with you," she said even as she obediently sat down. "So what's your advice?"

With a defeated sigh, the older sister said, "Unfortunately, I haven't got any. All you can do is wait, I'm afraid."

DG rolled her eyes. "That was my plan to begin with." She got off of her sister's packed trunk and made her way to the door. "You just wanted me to sit on your trunk, didn't you?"

"Perhaps."

"I'll be off, then, so you can get back to the exciting task of _packing."_

"Good luck, little sister," Azkadellia called after her as she left her rooms.

The younger Princess slowly walked through the halls a while, dragging her feet and letting her mind wander and feeling suddenly heavy and melancholic.

Aside from troubles with Ambrose, her problem was that she was so _bored;_ she felt as if she were in a rut. For days it had been raining and sleeting, turning the outdoors into a cold and slippery quagmire that she was absolutely _forbidden_ from going out into. All of her books and drawing supplies were closed away in a trunk for the move to the Ice Palace tomorrow, and she didn't want to go through the trouble of digging everything out and then packing it up again. Barred from being outdoors and with her usual diversions closed away in trunks, she was getting antsy.

She had nobody to talk to, either, except for Ambrose—who was unavailable now—or her sister, and sometimes some of the scholars that worked under the Queen would talk with her when they had the time. She'd once had playmates amongst the children of the nobilities in Court, but those girls had long since grown up, like Az had, and these days DG no longer had anything in common with them.

Recently, out of desperation, she'd tried to become re-acquainted with some her peers amongst the young men at Court. But that idea quickly died when she realized they were less interested in actually _doing_ anything with her as an equal, and more interested in proving who had more testicles. They did this mostly by insulting and attempting to one-up each other, and pounding fraternally on one another hard enough to cause skull fractures. Apparently, they were convinced that this would drive the Princess into uncontrollable lust, and DG was reminded why, precisely, she didn't really like boys her own age. After Ambrose, they all seemed so immature and silly—patently undesirable.

So the most interesting thing she could come up with to occupy her time until the Court moved again was just… _wait._

At the very least, the change of scenery would help to break up the boredom, but even _that_ was routine. They always spent winters in the Northern Islands—just _once_ she wanted to go to, say, Finaqua and see what it looked like in the winter time. Or go further west and see the ocean. Or just… walk. Start on one coast and travel to the opposite one, seeing anything she cared to see in between.

The itch in her feet was incredible. There were days that she wanted nothing more than to run away and see the world, live her own life for a while out from under the jurisdiction of her parents and the pressure of her title. Not forever—she was sure she'd come back once her wild side was sated.

But of course, her mother would never hear of such things, and DG had long ago given up on begging her mother to let her pursue her wanderlust. For a while she was less bothered by this, because she spent most of the year in school where she had relative freedom to do as she liked. Since returning, she'd begun to feel the walls closing in on her; she truly did love her family, but she felt at times as if she was living in a cage.

A very _nice_ cage, with tapestries, libraries, good food, and generally had things to keep her occupied, but a cage nonetheless.

She found such thoughts to be depressing. When she was with Ambrose, she was always happy, even if they were just in the same room and happily occupying separate tasks. He hated seeing her upset and would go out of his way to cheer her up when she was saddened—like now. Even when she wasn't with him, the anticipation of seeing him again always lightened her mood. She missed him sorely and hoped that he'd come talk to her soon, before she went completely batty. But she'd promised herself that she wouldn't pry, because there was nothing more irritating than somebody prodding into one's own personal business.

She dragged her feet on her way back to her own rooms, and she was pretty sure she had a little cartoon storm cloud hanging over her head.

The three trunks she had packed for the move were still sitting in the corner, waiting for somebody to come and collect them. The only things left unpacked were her travel clothes and bedclothes, the latter left balled-up and inside-out on her unmade bed. She was sleeping in Ambrose's old striped shirt again, a practice she took up only when she was feeling lonely. Like she was now.

Another unpacked item was sitting on her desk, wrapped in parchment: a birthday gift for him. His actual birthday was going to pass while they were on the road to the Northern Islands, but she'd planned on bringing him the gift before they left. Now she wasn't sure if she should, what with his general air of gloomy avoidance.

Still, the pretext of a delivery would give her an excuse to go and see him. And it would be a good idea for her to check up on him, make sure he hadn't forgotten to pack anything. She didn't have anywhere to store that heavy volume, anyway, so she might as well bring it to him…

Now she was just making rationalizations to herself. She picked up the wrapped package and carried it on her hip, the way women carried babies, and headed back out into the hall for the walk to the wing where he lived. Her feet carried her automatically, having taken this route quite often since early autumn.

"Good afternoon, your Highness," came the familiar low growl of her former magic tutor as she rounded a corner into the Academic's Wing. "What brings you here today?"

"Hello, Toto," she said back, noting his grimace at the use of the old nickname that he'd always hated. "I'm looking for Ambrose—have you seen him?"

"Master Ambrose? He's most likely in his study, I'd assume. He's spent a lot of time there recently. More than is normal for him, in any case."

"Thanks."

"Princess," Tutor said before the girl could head off.

"Yes?"

"Is something amiss?"

"Why?" She asked suspiciously.

He folded his massive hands in front of him before he spoke. "No particular reason. Master Ambrose and yourself were near attached at the hip for a long while, and then suddenly there's a separation. I was only wondering, Highness, I mean no disrespect," he apologized with a bow.

"It's all right, Tutor. It's a… personal matter is all. I'd better go find him, though, before he sees me coming and runs off."

"Of course, your Highness." He gave another bow and continued on his way as DG made for Ambrose's study.

His study was all the way near the end of the hall, close to the big scholar's library. This whole wing of the palace was called the Academic's Wing, where all of the palace tutors, scientists, physicians, inventors, and scholars worked and where they were housed. There were similar wings in every palace, because the Queen valued academics of all flavours and patronized many.

She quietly unlocked his door—he must have forgotten that she had a key and could barge in like this any time she liked—and stepped into the room. Ambrose's study was composed of two rooms: one with a desk, bookshelves, and file cabinets where he could put all of his ideas down on paper and organize them, and another with all of his scientific implements, where he put inventions together or took things apart. Both rooms were immaculately, almost _irritatingly,_ organized. Implements were arranged by size, bottles lined up on the shelves of glass-fronted cabinets by size and colour; his bookshelf was alphabetized, as were his file cabinets. Even the messes were organized. But, then, he was just like that. It was what made him so good at his job.

Still, sometimes she fairly _ached_ to move things around.

Ambrose was easy to find—he was asleep at his desk, arms folded in front of him, snoring away with his face in his drool. He looked dishevelled, untidy, as if he hadn't left the room in days. In fact, he probably hadn't. When he had an idea to work on something, he would lose all sense of proportion and work non-stop until the project was finished or until he dropped off all together. There was even a sleeping pad in his study, for the times when he worked so feverishly that he forgot to go to bed.

DG sighed wistfully and tentatively reached out a hand to stroke those unruly curls. He stirred only slightly at her touch, shifted in his seat, and then quieted again. She couldn't bear to wake him up, so she placed the wrapped parcel on the desk right at his elbow, where he was sure to find it when he awoke. She bent down and pressed a kiss to his temple, savouring the closest contact she'd had with him in over a week.

Suddenly, he startled, jerking himself upright and flailing his arms, apparently caught somewhere between a dream world and reality. She shot backwards at this sudden motion, nearly falling over.

He immediately began talking rapidly. "You Majesty, I beg your pardon for having been asleep, I didn't mean to be lax in my duties but I—"

Then he broke off and looked at her for a moment, blinking, as if trying to place her. Finally, he sighed, pressing a hand to his chest.

"You _scared_ me!" Both exclaimed in unison.

"I thought you were going to hit me accidentally," she said.

"I thought _you_ were your mother."

She smiled a little. "If I was my mother, I don't think I'd've kissed you." She stepped closer to him. "Are you all right?"

Nervously, Ambrose straightened himself out, smoothing his hair down with his hands and pulling at his wrinkled and askew clothing. "Fine, thank you, Princess," he said, using her title. She narrowed her eyes angrily but said nothing, and he continued. "What are you doing here?" He asked.

"You gave me a key, remember?"

A sigh. "I mean… why have you… come?" His speech was slow.

She tapped the parchment-wrapped gift with her fingertips. "I wanted to drop this off for you before we leave tomorrow. I didn't know if I'd get another chance for a while."

When his brows knit in confusion, she sighed inwardly.

"It's a birthday gift. You can open it now if you'd like—or later. I just wanted to give it to you before we leave."

"DG, you didn't have to do that—"

"I know," she said, cutting him off. "But I wanted to." Then she stepped away and turned towards the door, preparing to leave.

"Thank you," he said in a soft tone. "That was very kind of you, Highness."

"Well… I'll just be off then so I don't bother you," she said, a bit lamely and hoping that he was about to stop her.

"If you wish, Highness."

"All right, what's wrong?" She demanded, stamping her feet as she turned back around, her fists balled at her sides.

"What do you mean, 'what's wrong'?"

"You only use my title like that when something's bothering you and it concerns me. I didn't want to be an irritant by asking a lot of unwelcome questions, but really, Ambrose, what's bothering you?"

"It's nothing. Nothing to do with you, Deege, I promise," he reassured her quickly.

"I rather doubt that." When he opened his mouth to protest her assertion, she cut him off immediately. "You really aren't all that _intensely _difficult to figure, you know. You're using my title and you've been doing your best to avoid me. Those are the two unmistakable signs that something's gotten to you. Honestly, you can't just ignore all of your problems in hopes that they'll resolve themselves or just go away. Can we _please_ talk?"

"Can we do this later?" He asked, groping for absolutely any excuse. "I've a lot to catch up on before we leave tomorrow and I don't know if I can find anywhere to fit you in at the moment—"

"I fit _here,"_ she declared crossly, squeezing herself in between him and his desk, one foot on either side of him. She didn't even particularly care that she was acting like an irritating teenager. As long as it got him talking.

That was certainly a blunt and forward way of going about things, he thought absently to himself. But then, that was a part of her charm. He stared up at her, standing over him with her arms crossed and an impatient look on her face, bracketing him with her legs and effectively trapping him in his seat. He went over his options in his head, debating whether he should tell her or not.

When he didn't say anything, she lowered her eyes and looked away, placing her hands together in front of her in that way she did when she was nervous. Clearly he wasn't going to talk and it was silly of her to try and force it. That certainly wouldn't get either of them anywhere.

"All right, then, I guess I can take the subtle hint," she said, stepping to the side and away from him. "You'll talk when you're ready, I suppose. You'll know where to find me."

He didn't move from his spot as she made her way for the door, and briefly DG wondered if he'd forgotten that she was even there.

"I'm thirty-eight, you know," he said softly, out of the blue, still staring at the surface of his desk.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, turning back to look at him and leaning on the door.

"I turn thirty-eight," he repeated, turning his head to look at her.

"Yes…" she said slowly, eyebrows knit. "Thirty-seven plus one birthday generally will equal thirty-eight." She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him and a little light went off in her head. "Is _that_ what's worried you?"

He was silent again, looking back at his desk; she waited patiently for him to speak.

"You're so young, DG," he said finally, his voice low as if this was some monumental secret. "You're… vibrant and vivacious and lovely. Clever. Beautiful. You could have any young man in the OZ eating from the palm of your hand—_why_ are you bothering with _me?"_

This shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. She'd never thought Ambrose had been much bothered by the age gap between them. Certainly it hadn't come up in a very long time, after assuring him that she loved him for _him._ There had, of course, been talk about their relationship, from skeptics and cynics who thought that Ambrose was simply debauching the Princess for his own pleasures or using her to seize power behind the throne—or both. But neither of them had ever paid any attention to these rumours before, dismissed them without a second thought.

"Because I love you," she said quietly, coming to lean on his desk facing him. She threaded one hand through his hair and gently nudged him to look at her. "Hey—up here."

He obeyed; his face was expressionless but his eyes reflected sadness. She bent and kissed him softly on the lips.

"I _do_ love you. Never doubt that, no matter what you hear from other people."

Even still, he didn't look convinced. "I'm far too old for you, Princess."

"No you aren't," she said decisively. "That's ridiculous—have I _ever_ led you to think that?"

"No, but—"

"Then why think it?" She interrupted him before he could voice any more doubts. "I love you, and I'm happy with you. That you're older than me doesn't have anything to do with it."

"It's all right now, but what about later? What happens ten years from now?"

"You'll be forty-eight," she answered flatly.

"You know what I mean. What happens in twenty-some years, when I'm in my sixties? Have you thought of that? I'll be an old man, and you'll still be young and vibrant."

"I'd still love you. You can't have such a bad opinion of me that you'd think I'd run off because suddenly I think you're too old." Her hand traced little circles on his collarbone now; she felt him twitch under her touch. "Ten years is a long ways off. Twenty is even longer—can't we go on like we have been? Figure this all out when the time comes?"

"I intensely dislike leaving things up to chance or last-minute decisions, Deege," he said quietly, picking her hand up and holding it gently. "I worry that someday I'll be nothing but a burden to you."

"Couldn't you respect me enough to let me make my own decision?" She countered. "I'm young, yes, but I'd like to think I know my mind well enough to make a choice I can live with. I love you, Ambrose—you can't let a lot of idle gossip and some silly unfounded fears get in the way."

"But what if—"

"Enough with the 'whatifs' already!" Her outburst surprised even _her,_ as well as him. "I'm tired of 'whatifs'! I know you like to be prepared for every possible outcome but _really,_ Ambrose, the only way we're going to know about the future is to wait for it to come!"

"I suppose you're right…"

"I _am_ right," she declared, as if he was the last person in the world to have learned this. "You're being silly, and I think you know it. You know better than to take gossip and idle chatter to heart, don't you?"

With a sigh, he replied, "I oughtn't—I should know better. I _do_ know better, but I suppose it just struck a nerve." He rubbed his temples. "I love you, DG, but I suppose I've been doubtful, unsure. I see you and you're… wonderful. And I'm, well, I'm certainly not…" he trailed off, brows furrowed and a pained look on his face.

"Not what?" She prodded gently.

Silence; he looked into his lap, away from her. She waited for him to say speak.

"Not _good_ enough," he said finally.

The Princess recoiled in surprise. She certainly hadn't expected _that_ answer. Through her shock, she managed to stutter, "W—what?"

"Were it not for my position with her Majesty, I would be _nobody._ I'm not a man of any distinction, DG. I'm not from a good family or nobility. I'm not even _titled."_

How could he _possibly_ be thinking this? It was absolutely ridiculous. "I don't care about _any_ of that! What in the _world_ makes you think I'd be _fucked_ with titles and wealth and nobility?"

Ambrose's eyes nearly popped out of his head at her profanity.

"I don't care! Gods—what the hell are you thinking?"

His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

"Well?"

"I… don't think I've _ever_ heard you swear like that before…"

She bit her lower lip and put her arms around his shoulders, laughing gently against his hair. "Oh, Ambrose," she sighed. "You _are_ being _silly."_

He clasped his hands around hers. "I know—and I'm sorry."

"You think too much. That's the trouble—you get lost in your own head, sometimes, don't you?"

"You certainly know me," he said quietly. "I find this all so… surreal. I don't doubt you, not at all. I suppose it's just a lot of pessimism; I've never been much the target of fondness from ladies."

"Well, that's their loss, then. They just didn't see you like I do."

He sighed softly, leaned his head back against her. The feathery tips of her hair tickled his face and neck and rose goose-bumps along his skin.

"You've got to promise me something," she said sternly.

"Mm?"

"No more silliness, all right?"

She felt him nod against her; she kissed the top of his curly head and backed away.

"You're not allowed to try and keep these things bottled up anymore. Talk to me, or I'll come find you and _force_ it out of you."

After a pause, he quietly said, "Part of me quite _likes_ that idea, Doll."

She giggled. "Oh, Ambrose," she sighed again. A warm fizz prickled in her cheeks. Even though he had been behaving _stupidly,_ she just couldn't stay angry with him. In truth, she was just so glad that things were back to normal again. She couldn't even hold his stupidity against him. That was just the way he was—sometimes he thought things out and analyzed everything until good things became worrisome. She just had to make sure she was always nearby to keep him from going mad.

A little smile graced his lips. "You most definitely know how to talk sense to me. Seems I'm in need of that, sometimes."

"It happens to the best of us, you know." She took one of his hands and tugged him up with a wicked little grin. "Come on—tomorrow we're leaving for the Northern Islands, and I'd like to spend some time with you before the move."

o…o

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o…o

I know this is a short little chapter, but I _do_ plan on writing a second winter-based chapter actually _at_ the Ice Palace. Operating on the assumption that it won't be _two months_ before I get the next chapter out—you'll see it when it's posted! Until then, happy reading! Reviews are appreciated, but not demanded.


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